the boy who stole the world
by Black-Boots-And-Skinny-Jeans
Summary: Hermione didn't know when things began to change, when she stopped seeing - no began - seeing him. All she knew was that she had passed the point of no return, irrevocably in love with the darkness her shadows began bringing her. (Tom Riddle x Hermione Granger)
1. 00 Prologue

It felt a little like chaos – a nice way to depict it – with so much blood shed the ground had been stained crimson, chaos seemed to be the only way to describe it.

All the product of _war_. Redundant, pointless, preventable war.

Unnecessary cries of vengeance filled the air turning light into dusk, fire illuminating every ruined building.  
 _Yes_ , chaos was a fine way to describe it.

Hermione's biggest mistake was thinking that she was safe. That maybe if she tried a little harder her blood stained hands, and uncertain future wouldn't be able to catch up with her. Maybe if she'd went back just a little farther she could salvage memories of the before.

No matter how far back Hermione went, there would always be war. Always someone to greedy, somebody who wanted more than they deserved. That wouldn't change. That would never change.

She didn't mean to do it – yes she _did_.

How could she not?

When it was sitting there, so perfectly still and untouched.

Yes, she definitely meant to do it. She just didn't mean to do it so correctly.

She hadn't meant to go that far back.

She was never supposed to.


	2. 01 Chapter One

01\. Chapter one

* * *

At first there was no immediate change. But then there was – white hot - pain, followed by distortion as she dug up the past. Accidently rewriting herself into a time line fifty years too old.

Then there was nothing.

Silence; agonizing, head-splitting silence.

Knees buckled under weight Hermione hadn't known she'd been carrying. Everything felt slower as she hit the ground, all of her energy gone.

Hermione could lie there, but the longer she stay still the more hands of time went to work changing the past. Writing over something that just didn't belong.

She was an oddity not worth confronting, a small glitch. With enough weaving she could belong, with enough weaving, anyone could belong.

She hadn't noticed him at first, he was silent – a silhouette blending in with the shadows – assessing the damage. Hermione wondered what he'd see, what his rational mind would chalk this up to.

Maybe he'd say he just found her there, she was curious as to how he'd alter the situation. Would he remember? They _never_ remember.

Nobody moved, the silhouette didn't come forward and Hermione refused to get up.

She'd never noticed how comfortable the ground was before now. Perhaps she'd study out here if she'd ever received the chance again. _No_ , Hermione couldn't think about studying, not after what had just happened.

With one final heave – that sounded a lot like giving up – she drew her knees to her chest and let her eyes close, as her memories went to work, absconding her mind.

All of her secret's – the ones she had let die on the grass that day – didn't seem so important anymore, as her mind slowly began replacing faces, changing names, twisting the lines of fate until it fit the story she had just created.

She woke up in the hospital wing, nobody at her side.

It didn't bother her, even after she attempted to feel the slightest bit of remorse for herself.

This was different. Very different.

Somebody was supposed to be here – two somebodies to be exact.

She couldn't remember their names, their faces, why they were supposed to be here. She just knew that the sides of her bed should not be empty.

But they were.

Bile rose in her mouth, her stomach churning.

The pain cleared her mind, she sat up suddenly – bad move. Hermione now sat in the middle of a spinning room.

She blinked back a few times, restoring the building to its original state.

This was different, she didn't know what she was supposed to be comparing it to, all she knew was that this wasn't the same place she remembered.

The strangest part of this whole thing was that she couldn't remember exactly what she was remembering, her mind was betraying her, quick to change the small things but slow around the large parts.

She felt any recollection and composure she'd received upon waking up drain from her system.

This was _not_ right.

Hermione suddenly began breathing heavy, her breaths more hurried. Perhaps if she soaked up enough oxygen, or blinked back enough tears things would start making sense.

Sound could no longer reach her ears as she focused on remembering, or maybe she was never trying to remember only forget.

It was a blur after that. Movement too fast for her incoherent brain. The last thing she remembered was being forced down. Cold flesh against warm, and a momentary flash of green.

A sinister feeling washed over her, yet it was twistedly comforting. Slowly she sank bank down, relaxing - her grip on the chalk white bed sheets slowly subsiding.

* * *

Hermione lurched forward, sweat sticking to her forehead. She looked around, finding herself in a dimly lit Gryffindor girl's dormitory. This should have felt strange – it _didn't_.

The next thing she knew a white pillow had been tossed – rather aggressively - at her head followed by a groan, "I swear to Merlin _Hermione_ I am going to pluck every single strand of your hair out one by one if you don't shut the heck up!"

Hermione tried feeling upset, tried to find confusion behind this girl's empty threat. Instead she found amusement – out of everything – stirring in the pit of her stomach.

With a sigh Hermione fell backwards, she began to exam the ceiling trying to find beauty in the seamless threading of red and gold. She hated the two colors – red signaling bloodshed, and _gold_ , gold was the worst because she didn't understand why she hated it, or how she had come to associate the colors.

She doesn't remember why she thought this way, - couldn't remember what had happened to make her think this way - why she scorns the two colors she should find the most pride in.

* * *

Hermione walked down the hall – her books clutched closely to her chest – in a dream like state as she headed to her first class. She found herself marveling in the beauty of the castle, finding herself pleased that it wasn't in a state of ruins.

 _Everything's broken._

 _Ash swirls around her, filling her lungs making it difficult to breathe. The castle's in ruins and they're there ready to kill. Their hands no longer able to grasp what should've been theirs but only what they wanted, blood staining every available inch of skin._

 _They don't care that their all kids._

 _They didn't care._

 _That they'd be taking away lives too young to understand that what was happening was wrong._

 _Because this was, undeniably and irrevocably wrong._

 _They wanted bloodshed, they wanted to see this castle fall and they wanted to see them burn._

She blinks again and it's gone, a memory but not quite. A feeling she didn't know she had possessed hiding in the recesses of her mind.

She's walked straight into someone but she doesn't feel it, doesn't notice the glare he sends her way, or how she'd just touched something – someone – intangible. Something too perfect to be real.

"Watch were you're going!" He hisses, his eyes a shade to dark to be black.

She doesn't notice, doesn't see him. Not how she was supposed to.

A feeling of dread washes over her, as if she'd seen him before – knew him to be capable of despicable things. But that was impossible because she'd never seen him before.

 _Yes_ she has.

There it is again, that fluorescent green, and she doesn't understand. Her brain won't let anything click, she's too busy thinking about how this castle was once broken filled with people who could have done anything, but instead were just as broken as that castle.

An overwhelming sense of grief floods her and she wants to leave. Get out of here because they weren't there with her and she didn't know who _they_ were, just that she shouldn't be alone.

* * *

He doesn't understand what had just happened, can't quite remember where he'd seen her before. Because he had to have seen her, he knew everyone in this school.

It was nothing.

The way she tip toed lightly afraid she'd fall through the ground, never spoke but always ready to listen, how her answers were short not descriptive but always right, it didn't matter that he never really saw her because she was never here nor there.

This was nothing.

It had to be, because what would he say if it _was_ something?

* * *

 **I know it's rather short, and it's taken me nine stinking days to update. I hope this was adequate and can** **quench** **your thirst for the time being. I have been working really hard on it - yet simultaneously ignoring it. I have been spending an unhealthy amount of time reading tomione fanfiction and researching time travel, (if any of you have any good tomione fanfiction/written any of your own you should not hesitate to tell me about it because i will read it) not to mention I have track practice everyday after school, I have very little time to write now. Rest assured, this story has not been forgotten, it's just not my main priority. I am very bad at updating and getting quality chapters up, thus means combining the two is rather difficult. I really hope who ever reads this enjoys it. Have a great day.**


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